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Why France? – part two.

The Anna Raccoon Archives

by Anna Raccoon on May 25, 2009

I am always leery of writing of life in France, it sets off an utterly predictable rash of knee jerk comments from fellow bloggers who seem to think that because one lives in Europe one has no right to comment on life in the UK – albeit that they frequently comment on life in Europe! My answer is always the same – I pay taxes in England, and this blog is my only representation, I have no vote.

There is a perception of the French as being arrogant and aloof, one that I shared when I arrived (in tears at the prospect of living here!) in my husband’s wake. It is true that they are as welcoming and helpful to a tourist addressing them in English as the average Englishman walking down his High Street in Epsom is when addressed in flowing Mandarin – a more widely spoken language than little old English. It will seem a strange notion to the multi-cultural ideology of the UK, but the French believe that it is for newcomers to adapt to them, not the other way round. Weird idea, but I, along with every other immigrant to this country – and there are more immigrants in France than there are in the UK – have struggled to learn the language, file our tax returns, obey the laws, and generally fit in with the culture without too much trouble. We didn’t need our gas bill translated into fourteen different languages to understand that we needed to pay it. A good dictionary helps.

Devil’s Kitchen has set me off again on the ‘Why France?’ tack – it seems Oldham council have decided that:

Drinkers in Oldham will have to queue at bars and buy no more than two beers at a time in an attempt to curb violence and binge-drinking.

Customers will be encouraged to stand behind rope barriers similar to those used in banks and post offices as they wait to be served, while drinking in the queue will also be discouraged, under new proposals.

Dear God! Another law from the nanny state?

I live in a country with licensing laws that insist that every bar closes for an entire hour every day. An hour! During that hour, you are forced to pop into the local bakers shop, or the next door cafe, or even the greengrocers, if you want a drink so badly that you can’t wait that hour out. You would be hard pushed to find anywhere that would serve you lunch and not throw in a carafe of wine – refilled if you look as though you are going to empty it. Every second farmhouse that you pass in the countryside has a sign outside offering free booze! Free! – if you would just be kind enough to stop and help yourself.

There are no laws limiting what you can drink, there are no laws limiting the age that minors can be on licensed premises. There are no laws telling you what time you can start or stop drinking. There are no restrictions telling license owners which brand of alcohol they can stock.

Not many people live within walking distance of shops, so drink-driving is a problem admittedly, and the death rate on the roads is horrendous – but drunks? You will search for a long time to find a drunk. (No cheating now, and finding an Englishman on holiday!)

Then again, most Frenchmen carry a wicked looking knife, bought freely in any village market place. What else would they cut up their saucisson and baguette with, or prise open their oysters? Supermarkets have a display of bullets and cartridges in the area by the till reserved for children’s sweets in the UK. They go with the guns that you can buy in every town, everything from a hand gun to an Uzi sub-machine gun. (I kid you not).

A Health and Safety apparatchik would have a nervous breakdown here – fairs have guns stalls where you can practice your aim, and no-one feels the need to chain the guns to the counter, or make sure you don’t point it at anyone.

I have just returned from visiting a château with visitors where a steep cobbled slope led downwards to a 200 foot sheer drop over a cliff edge – no sign considered necessary to tell you that it was against the law to go over the edge, no steel barriers to prevent you from doing so.

The French may have many faults, but they have a natural pride in themselves that makes them not want to lie comatose in the gutter. Their bureaucracy may be a nightmare, but they are natural Libertarians, they ask for as little interference in their lives as possible, and respond by ‘policing’ themselves.They don’t throw their rubbish out of the car window, they don’t play their transistors full blast on a crowded beach, they don’t binge drink and run riot through shopping centres. Not because it is against the law, but because they respect themselves and their fellow countrymen.

Libertarianism, to me, doesn’t mean being able to do and say what you want, when you want, irrespective of other people, that is pure selfishness – and the true selfishness is demanding that other people make way for you to do so. Libertarianism, to me, means that you can be responsible for your own behaviour, and take responsibility for ensuring that your behaviour doesn’t impinge on anyone else’s way of life.

Laws will not change peoples behaviour, they only punish those who transgress them – and get caught.

The Libertarian Party is desperately looking for funds to field Libertarian candidates in the next election. Please click this link and do what you can to help them, if the English can acquire a Libertarian mentality, life will be better for everyone.

In response to Lexander (g’d evenin’ btw Lexander) I heard today on Radio 4 during a long and tedious drive of a book in which a man attempts to forecast the weather via the numerical calculations of many, many mathemeticians. I learned during the programme that, long before we all had PCs in our houses, mathematicians were once referred to as ‘computers’; consulting my 1976 edition of The Concise English Dictionary I see ‘computer’ defined as: “Reckoner, calculator; automatic electronic apparatus for making calculations or controlling operations that are expressible in numerical or logical terms.” I am not suggesting Madame Raccoon is a mathematician or an automated electronic apparatus but I do feel that she is an excellent ‘reckoner’ who expresses her ideas and calculated observations in logical terms.

‘……. it seems Oldham council have decided that: Drinkers in Oldham will have to queue at bars and buy no more than two beers at a time in an attempt to curb violence and binge-drinking.’

Oldham ………… ‘Home of the tubular bandage.’ …………. And more drunks and druggies than anybody ever expected.

Oldham proudly boasts of its heritage and the fact that a couple of villages once boasted more millionaires than anywhere on Earth at one point in its chequered history.

Sadly ……… Oldham has been left a legacy of mill-hands who worked their bollocks off and turned to hard drinking to quench a tremendous thirst from spinning cotton all day. The results of all this hard graft and drinking has produced offspring with strong healthy breeding-machine bodies but with a tremendous need for alcohol.

I was shocked some months ago to read that Oldham town centre had converted a former shop into an accident and emergency room ……….. to save drunks the trouble of calling ambulances or winding their way to the local hospital.

Children drink from cans and bottles on the streets in Oldham. The police treat many of these areas as no-go zones and they just cannot be arsed with the same offenders night after night and the social services have fewer resources to deal with it than they had twenty years ago.

The BNP have more admirers and supporters per street in Oldham than anywhere else in the UK. Of course not all drinkers are BNP supporters and not all BNP suporters are drinkers ……….. but the fact is that the more people are out of control of themselves – the more likely they are to be caught up in the divisiveness of the current political climate.

Oldham blames many of its problems on the increasingly volatile Asian communities ………… but the simple fact is that it’s the white trash that have crumbled the communities to dust and no matter how much money is flung at Oldham ………… it is beyond help. It is also a fact that even a lapsed Moslem would not have the choice of being able to walk into a bar or pub in Oldham because of the violent and racist atmosphere that would await them.

Cato – you go to http://en.gravatar.com/site/signup They send you back an e-mail, and then you follow the instructions and you get a pretty picture when you comment – like my ‘Raccoon’ or Gloria’s for instance, or something more politically correct or whatever you want – you can change it as many times as you want…..

What’s this Gravatar thingy then? Never heard of it. ………………… This Gravatar thingy is the means by which one attaches a piccy to one’s e-mail address and thenceforth whenever one posts a witticism ‘pon a site such as this, one’s chosen picccy ‘ppears (such as does my own delightful misrepresentation of myself, complete with fag). Hint: choose piccy first and save to computer. Then google Gravatar, sign in, choose piccy from browser, finally confirm. Picture will appear wherever you have posted under said e-mail moniker. It’s as simple as that.

I would have posted earlier but I was stuck in the queue to comment. Been here hours, but the person at the desk wanted to know everybody’s name, the date of birth and national insurance number. Now I’ve got to the front, I’ve forgotten what I want to say………:0)

Mrs Paine is very keen on retiring to France, whereas I would prefer an American state with a concealed carry law. Any suggestions as to a compromise? Was directed here by Old Holborn and am pleased to have your blog in my RSS feed now. How did I miss it before?

My favourite was the small explosives you could buy in Calais with ‘variable’ fuses which could be snapped off at a desired length to alter the burn time. Far from plotting to maim and dismember my only desire was to reduce a plant pot to dust but now even fireworks are not allowed to be set off after 10pm in England without express written permission from the local council, fire brigade, police and environmental health.

First Smuddlet was conceived after a fine fish supper in Whitby’s Magpie Cafe. He was given his first oyster in Honfleur at 2 years of age by an uncle who thought he wouldn’t like it; he chewed it with relish and demanded (and was given) more from everyone else at the table. I wasn’t there – I was confined to barracks with screaming infant Second Smuddlet.

“flowing Mandarin – a more widely spoken language than little old English”

No, it is spoken by more people but it is not the most widely spoken language due to the fact that the vast majority of Mandarin speakers still live in one country. English is still the most widely spoken language, just not the one that is spoken by the most people.

Apart from that, agree with what you say. I lived in France for nearly four years in my early twenties. Worked my arse off to learn the language so I could get a decent job and still love to go back. Why am I no longer there? Because I want to be in England to actually make a difference, rather than watching it all crumble from the sidelines.

These are values that we used to see in Britain. Unfortunately for some reason and I personally would blame the breakdown of family values and kids getting pregnant without any idea what they are getting into, these values no longer seem to exist in our country. Oh God, I’m beginning to sound like my father!

For info, Old Holborns grandfather was a French Chef on the royal yacht Britannia. His grandmother was a proud Scot. He is also part Jewish, 100% athiest and is married to a half German half welsh Godess. And I LOVE oysters as my wife and six children will testify. I have also been arrested twice for murder. Once in Frankfurt, once in Cavaillon, France.